


a family history

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Series: the family history [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Delilah Cooperspoon's childhood backstory, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Family Drama, Illegitimacy, Imperial Family Drama, Infertility, Infidelity, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Pre-Canon, Pre-Dishonored (Video Game), References to Child Loss, References to Miscarriage, Royalty, Tyvia (Dishonored), if arkane will not give me the delilah copperspoon backstory then i will write it myself, so this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: “Do you want to shame me, dear husband?” Beatrix’s thin knuckles go bloodless white around her fork. “Or is there another reason you would insist on making your disgrace to me, to our marriage so public? Have I done something wrong?” There is so much malice in her voice! She does not mean to sound so terribly upset, but she cannot keep her tone under control!“Delilah is my daughter, too,” Euhorn says firmly, though not unkindly. “Just as much as Jessamine—”Beatrix drops the fork to the table with a clatter, that awful darkness rearing again in her heart. “Don’t you dare compare your bastard to our child!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it would definitely help to read "your grandmother was tyvian?" first. if emily/wyman is not your thing, just skip the very last paragraph of that work! 
> 
> because, really, why did euhorn allow delilah to hang around for so long and then suddenly fire her? 
> 
> goes without saying that beatrix is not kind to delilah or her mother, and is outright nasty/abusive to them both.

Beatrix is not _unaware_ she is not the sole object of her husband’s affections, and perhaps has never been. But Euhorn, dear Euhorn, has never been unkind to her in his affairs, has never brought her any disgrace. She knows that her… difficulties with her body, the inconsistent bleeding and pains have made it simpler for Euhorn to seek that sort of comfort with others. But Beatrix took comfort looking at the glittering ring around her finger, in knowing that when the night ends, it is to her Euhorn will always return.

It does not ease the sting of seeing that kitchen maid, sitting in Beatrix’s private parlor, and Euhorn’s hand on the maid’s shoulder—her beloved Euhorn, resting his palm on some servant’s shoulder! What dishonor and cruelty was this? Bringing a maid into _her_ private rooms, touching her as if Beatrix should not have been the only one who receive such affection!

The maid’s face is swollen and red from recent tears. “I’m so sorry,” she cries, and covers her face with her hands, and Euhorn gently touches her cheek, and Beatrix cannot bear to see anymore.

She turns her back to them both, pouring herself a cup of tea from the tray next to the window, aware that she looks every bit like the cold Tyvian princess everyone imagines her to be, in heavy court gowns and long veils, never expressing any emotion beyond serenity. And yet her hands betray her: they shake with her rage, the silver spoon clattering against the porcelain as Beatrix stirs in the sugar—and that is what this emotion is, isn’t it? Rage. Something far blacker and bleaker than simple anger, something that Beatrix was always told a good noblewoman should never experience.

“She’s going to have my child,” Euhorn finally says, tone quiet and solemn, since the maid will not stop blubbering, and something inside of Beatrix snaps. She shrieks as she hurls the teacup against the dark wood paneling of the wall, just a little bit past where the maid sits, and knocks over the samovar and the delicate painted pots of sugar and milk. The hot tea scalds Beatrix’s hands and stains the front of her pink gown, but she cannot find it within herself to care, tears clouding her vision too rapidly for her to blink them away.

How desperately had Beatrix tried! How badly she had always wanted a child with Euhorn! And this kitchen maid—this _wench,_ this _harlot_ , Beatrix thinks cruelly—gets to have Euhorn’s child instead! Instead of his wife, dutiful and quiet and forever loyal and so terribly, terribly lonely, desperate for a child who might bring her some small joy.

Beatrix sobs. She has never cried in front of her husband before, too proud and too well-raised in the aristocracy to break like this, but she cries now, gown stained and askew, her veil twisted and sliding backwards on her head.

Euhorn rises, moves to soothe her, but what right does he have to touch her? Had he—her dear Euhorn, her sweet husband who had previously been so kind to her—not once thought of her? Beatrix pulls back from his attempt at an embrace, and fixes a serene expression on her face, and walks out of the parlor and into her private bedroom without glancing backward, hand holding up the hem of her skirt so tightly it will leave wrinkles in the delicate silk.

Let Euhorn and his wench of a kitchen maid clean up the mess she had made.

* * *

Euhorn is a wiser man than Beatrix gives him credit for. How clever, sending her a gift through her ladies-in-waiting! Giving her a sparkling tiara of the most beautiful diamonds, arranged in a stunning kokoshnik shape! Making sure to write the note alongside the tiara in the broken Tyvian he had tried so hard to learn!

Looking at the note, Beatrix feels so terribly foolish. If her mother—strong and graceful Alexandrovna—had seen her, she would have been so ashamed! Beatrix was a noblewoman, the Empress Consort. She should have conducted herself with more grace.

Of course Euhorn had not ever intended to hurt her. No matter how he strayed from her bed, he never once had he been so cruel as to flaunt it about. He did adore her, that was always plain. How was he to have known how lonely she had become in this dreadful Tower if Beatrix did not tell him?

_I will take you to Ruane Castle in Driscol, my love, and will remind you of the ardency of my affection for you. No maid could ever hold my eye as you have. Allow me to recapture your heart, my beloved Beatrisa Ilyinichna Tatiana, as you have always captured mine._

Beatrix smiles, inhaling softly. They would go to Ruane Castle, and Euhorn would be so good to her, wouldn’t he?

Everything could be well again.

* * *

 _A family is all you could ever wish for, Beatrisa._ Alexandrovna’s hands were always soft, her smile always radiant—and, oh, by the Void, how _badly_ did Beatrix wish she had inherited her mother’s perfect composure, her grace.

Beatrix knows she is being cruel to the maid—Elizabeth, she had said her name was—and that her husband should share in her anger, but Beatrix cannot let go of her spite. She has tried, of course! Oh, how she has tried!

But when the maid is serving dinner and seems to linger just a moment longer than necessary next to Euhorn when filling his wine glass, her free hand on the swell of her belly, Beatrix cannot hide the twitching of her lip. Even though Beatrix is supposed to be entertaining the Serkonan ducal family, she insists that she’s suddenly taken ill, and must immediately retire.

And when Beatrix finds her dear Euhorn with a gentle smile in the hallway as the maid tells him that she can feel their child kicking within her, and they do not notice her—she calls the maid in to her dressing room, just to see the maid’s face light up at the sight of all of Beatrix’s finery. Beatrix pulls out her diamond kokoshnik and plucks a single, small diamond from the base of the tiara with her jewelry pliers. As spiteful as it may be, she hands it to the maid with a cruel smile. “This was a gift from Euhorn,” Beatrix says. “I felt you might appreciate it.”

How the maid turns red, humiliated! And for a moment, the dark beast of jealousy is satisfied within Beatrix. The maid may have Euhorn’s child within her, but only Beatrix will ever have her husband’s love, the entirety of his devotion.

Was she always so resentful? Beatrix is almost ashamed when the maid cries, setting the diamond on her dressing table as she dashes out of the room. Had she always been so cruel? How mortified Alexandrovna would have been to see her daughter now!

* * *

“No,” Beatrix says firmly, rising from her seat in her parlor, smoothing imagined dirt from her gown as she plucks a biscuit off the platter a servant had brought in. It is painfully dry in her mouth, too rich and buttery for her tastes, but it is a welcome distraction from the conversation at hand.

Euhorn looks so tired sitting on her chaise, stern eyes now lined with age. Her dear, dear husband. “A small title, an honorary peerage. Something to give the child a future.” He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Something, in case—”

She can feel her face burn red, her tears welling up. “In case of what, dear husband?” Beatrix interrupts. Her voice is shaking.

“In case this is…” Euhorn won’t look her in the eyes. Her own husband! “In case this is my only child.”

Her hand flies up to her mouth as she chokes on a sob, and Euhorn rushes to her side, expression apologetic as he wraps his arms around her. “Why are you so cruel?” Beatrix cries. “Why would you say that? Don’t you think I’m trying, Euhorn?”

Hasn’t she tried every tincture, treatment, and potion that she could get a physician or an alchemist to prescribe? Hasn’t she lain in bed for weeks, certain that it would finally be her chance, and there would be a child to make the Tower’s halls a bit less cold, only to wake at night to blood ruining her bedclothes?

“I’m sorry, _solnishko_ ,” he murmurs, but not even his Tyvian pet names will soothe her tears this time as he dabs at her tears with a kerchief pulled from his dress uniform’s pocket. “I didn’t mean it that way, I swear to you, I just know you have been trying so hard…”

But there is no comforting away his words this time. No tiaras or prose that could take away how deeply Euhorn’s word had dug at Beatrix.

She sends him away, and sobs in her room alone.

* * *

Ruane is lovely in the late summer.

It has been many years since Beatrix held court alone, but the physician has insisted she take a leave away from the Tower. It was making her ill, he had said, and the fresh country air would do her mind good.

So Beatrix goes to Ruane Castle for the season, and Euhorn stays in Dunwall, and they are both resolutely imagining that this has nothing to do with how his kitchen maid is ready to give birth at any moment.

The castle does do good things for Beatrix’s health, she must admit. How lovely it is to wake whenever she wants, to pass her days in leisure, away from the pressure of the Tower! She hosts only a few select peeresses and aristocratic wives, entertaining them with card games and walks through the castle gardens and tea ceremonies given in the Tyvian style.

Her head feels clearer. Was she truly so awful to Euhorn, back in Dunwall? In the crisp air of Driscol, all that felt so far away. When her dear Emperor comes to visit her (and makes absolutely no mention of the child that Beatrix knows must have been born by this late date), she feels like old self again, a woman her mother could be proud of. She indulges Euhorn with soft kisses and midnight strolls, resting her head on his shoulder, and for a while, things are as they always should have been.

* * *

The charm is a silly superstition, a gift from a lady-in-waiting with a glitter of mischief in her eyes—one of Beatrix’s favored peeresses, the wife of the Grand Duke of Serkonos, who says her mother taught her to carve the little trinkets of whalebone, supposed to carry blessings. It cannot be any harm, can it? Just an old sailor’s tale! How silly Beatrix feels, setting it under her pillow, where her husband cannot find it.

Perhaps it is the charm, or it is the clean country air, but Beatrix has missed a cycle. She resolves not to tell Euhorn until she can be certain there will be no more loss.

The leaves turn golden and orange, and Euhorn leaves Driscol to return to Dunwall, kissing the back of her hand and promising to send her a gift when he arrived at the Tower—a splendid new winter cloak, certain to be heavy with rich golden embroidery, and white gazelle-skin gloves, to keep away the autumn chill.

Beatrix misses another cycle, and winter comes, the snow heavier here in Driscol than in Dunwall. It reminds her of Dabokva, of her home, and won’t it be wonderful to take her child back to her home country? To show her child the portrait galleries of Tyvian heroes in the High Palace, the ballrooms of gold and mirrors that had no parallel in ornateness in Gristol, the cold waters where the songs of the whales could be heard faintly below the ice.

She writes to her dear Euhorn after the third missed cycle, and sends for the Imperial Physician.

* * *

Beatrix had been so certain that the months she had spent in Driscol had quelled the terrible, dark jealousy that had once curled in her chest! Certainly, too, the soft movements of her child—her own child, with her dear Euhorn—inside her womb should have cured it!  

And yet, when she sees the maid again, that black rage unfurls in her again. The maid is scrubbing the floors in the private dining room, and Beatrix cannot fight the bile that rises in her throat. She lifts the hem of her deep blue skirt, exposing the shining gold buckles of her slippers, and fixes her gaze straight on the exit at the opposite end of the room—and kicks over the washbucket as she passes the maid.

The maid cries out in protest, but Beatrix pays no mind. How cruel she’s become! But how satisfying it is, how terrible Beatrix’s joy is when the maid bursts into tears.

* * *

“Presenting Her Imperial Highness, Jessamine Alexandra Kaldwin, first of her name, Crown Princess of the Empire of the Isles.” And how Beatrix smiles, holding her newborn daughter up a bit higher, on the steps of Dunwall Tower, presenting her to the people little Jessamine will one day rule over.

It had been a hard birth, but it did not matter now. Beatrix has her daughter, her darling Emperor, and nothing will ever destroy her family. There is nothing any _kitchen maid_ could give Euhorn that Beatrix has not given him, now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But is Delilah going, too?” Jessamine asks, folding her hands neatly in her lap.  
> Beatrix blinks back tears, kneeling down to adjust the closure of Jessamine’s little cloak over her shoulders as they wait for the carriage. “No, Delilah will not be going with us,” she says, more forcefully than she intended. Oh, how that bastard girl has dug under Beatrix’s skin!

“Please,” Euhorn says, voice near begging, and Beatrix cannot bear to look at him again, so she sits straighter in her chair, gazing up the Kaldwin crest that hangs over the mantle in their private dining room. “You refuse to let me give her even an honorary title, and I respected—”

“Do you want to shame me, dear husband?” Beatrix’s thin knuckles go bloodless white around her fork. “Or is there another reason you would insist on making your disgrace to me, to _our marriage_ so public? Have I done something wrong?” There is so much malice in her voice! She does not mean to sound so terribly upset, but she cannot keep her tone under control!

“Delilah is my daughter, too,” Euhorn says firmly, though not unkindly. “Just as much as Jessamine—”

Beatrix drops the fork to the table with a clatter, that awful darkness rearing again in her heart. “Don’t you dare compare your bastard to our child!”

“I only meant—”

“It does not matter what you meant! That girl has no right to anything in this palace! And you insist that she remain here, in my household! You ask me to let her share a room with my daughter! To share a tutor! To present her to the court as if she were a legitimate child! You ask me to look upon a girl whose birth is a humiliation to me with kindness! Do you know how the court talks of me?” Beatrix stands so suddenly her chair is knocked over, hands clenching into fists. Her face burns with her anger. “She must be so cold that her husband cannot stand to fuck her,” she spits, quoting the gossip she’s heard for seven years now. “She must be frigid. She must be a bitch. Why else would the Emperor fuck a servant?”

Euhorn looks aghast, his meal forgotten, face paling. “I did not know—”

Beatrix takes a sharp breath in as she smooths a hand down the jeweled stomacher of her gown. “I will be leaving for the palace in Dabokva tomorrow evening, and I will be taking Jessamine with me. We will return when both the girl and her mother are gone.”

Poor, dear Euhorn, she thinks desperately, but Beatrix cannot think of any other way to make him understand her mortification every time he spoke of the girl. For as much as she knows her husband adores her, his cruelty to her in this seems boundless.

* * *

“But is Delilah going, too?” Jessamine asks, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Beatrix blinks back tears, kneeling down to adjust the closure of Jessamine’s little cloak over her shoulders as they wait for the carriage. “No, Delilah will not be going with us,” she says, more forcefully than she intended. Oh, how that bastard girl has dug under Beatrix’s skin!

“Are you sad, Mama?” How perceptive her little daughter was, with her father’s big blue eyes! It makes Beatrix ache. “Please don’t be sad.”

“There is so much snow in Tyvia,” Beatrix says, instead of answering her question. “Won’t it be exciting to get to see your cousins and play in the snow with them?”

But even little Jessamine is not so easily deceived, so clever for only six years old! “Why isn’t Papa coming with us?”

“Your papa has to stay and run court here, but you and I will get to have fun together. Have you been practicing your Tyvian?” It will be good to see Dabokva again! To see her brothers and their wives, where rumors of Euhorn’s indiscretions had never been seriously heard. How lovely it will be to speak her mother tongue so freely, and teach her daughter all the Tyvian customs she was deprived of in Dunwall!

And, best of all, so far away from that awful girl and her mother! Away from this dreadful court!

* * *

“ _Her Highness, Beatrisa Ilyinichna Tatiana Kaldwin, Empress Consort!_ ” Beatrix’s oldest brother Pyotr gives a dramatic bow, pressing a kiss to the heavy silver signet ring on her middle finger. Beatrix giggles. How wonderful it was to be back home, this gold-trimmed mansion she had formed so many fond childhood memories in!

“ _And Her Highness, the Crown Princess!_ ” Pyotr gives a kiss to the back of Jessamine’s palm, too, beaming. Jessamine nods, her grasp on Tyvian not strong enough to truly understand what her uncle was saying.

Marya, Pyotr’s wife, grasps Beatrix’s hands in hers with a smile. “ _The samovar is ready for tea, and I’ve had the servants set out biscuits and cakes until dinner is ready._ ”

Beatrix gently touches Marya on the cheek, sighing happily. “ _Thank you._ ” How lovely it was to be back with her family! She had not seen her brothers since Euhorn’s coronation, and Beatrix had been much too busy with the event to truly appreciate their company.

“ _Will you allow us to take you out? The opera is putting on a grand show, something by a composer from Serkonos, and it is supposed to be magnificent_ ,” Marya asks, leading Beatrix into the main parlor.

“ _Of course_.” Beatrix will have a lovely time in Dabokva. She will make sure of it.

* * *

_… I understand the dishonor I have brought to you through Delilah, though I will not pretend to fathom how it has affected you. I cannot ask you to forgive me for what I did, for the violation of our most sacred union. I instead ask you to forgive the girl, who had no control over the conditions of her birth. I have had Elizabeth reassigned to the third serving shift in the guest dining room, so that you will never have to see her again, and arranged for a small allowance to be set aside for Delilah’s care. She will reside permanently with her mother in the servant’s quarters, and attend lessons with the other servants’ children._

_After this letter, I will never ask you again to speak of Delilah or her mother, and I will never mention them. You and Jessamine are all that matter to me, I swear to you._

_I adore you entirely, my bride, my most beautiful sunshine. There is nothing I want more than for you to return to Dunwall. This castle is empty without you, and I ache for your embrace, for your gentle words and kinds hands, for Jessamine’s laughter and joy.  I miss you most fervently, but I will not begrudge you however much time you need before you can return. Return to me when you are ready, and not a moment sooner, my beloved Empress._

Beatrix presses the letter to her bosom with a shaking sigh. Dear, dear Euhorn. Has she always been such a fool for him?

Of course she will return to Dunwall. Not immediately, of course—Beatrix does not want Euhorn to think she was so easily swayed—but Beatrix will return in a week or so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention I have a pinterest board for this y'all can look at! [here's the link](https://www.pinterest.com/marchenribbon/dishonored-beatrix/)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very strong word of warning for cruelty to servants and more awfulness, including a mentioning of whipping.

Beatrix is not a fool.

She knows that dear Jessamine and the bastard girl run around together in secret, and that Euhorn visits Delilah occasionally. Beatrix can bear both of those things, if she does not have to see that wretched kitchen maid or the bastard for herself. She can ignore that awful twist of dark emotion that they both bring up in her.

As the years go on, it has become easier to bear. Beatrix almost pities the bastard girl, too-thin and with overly sharp features, hair kept clumsily trimmed short. _Delilah_ , in Jessamine’s castaway clothes that never fit her properly but her wench of a mother could not afford to refuse. _Delilah_ , living off whatever scraps Euhorn threw her way, undoubtedly.

Nothing like Beatrix’s own lovely Jessamine, soft and gentle, with her dear father’s big blue eyes and Beatrix’s own dark hair. So clever, so beautiful! A child that Alexandrovna would have loved to call her granddaughter, Beatrix is certain. Jessamine had been radiant when she’d made her debut at court last year—only eight years but as composed as any of the peeresses three times her age, in a beautiful pale pink court gown that matched Beatrix’s own, silver star hairpins woven into her long hair.

Beatrix had seen Delilah watching that day, though the girl had thought she was well-hidden behind a heavy wooden display case. Envy was plain on the bastard girl’s face. Had Euhorn promised her that one day, she might join them too? How foolish!

And yet that sick joy twists in Beatrix’s gut! Let the girl see everything she would be denied! Let her stare at Jessamine, with greed in her eyes, as her half-sister is recognized as the Crown Princess and Delilah is left to rot like the bastard she is.

Once Beatrix might have been ashamed of her thoughts, but now she embraces them. Dunwall was never kind to her! Why should she be kind in turn?  

* * *

The Spymaster is a good, Tyvian man, of strong Samara stock: Andrey Nikodim Pavel Volkov, the oldest son of the Volkov ore-mining family. He is sweet to Beatrix, bringing her back oddities and small gifts from their shared homeland when he travels north. Of course Beatrix knows that he does it simply to curry her favor, but it is sweet to speak Tyvian with someone beyond Jessamine and the very few Tyvian aristocrats who sometimes spend a season at court.

Euhorn does not much care for Andrey, for reasons Beatrix cannot imagine. Perhaps he thinks the Spymaster has some ill intention for her, a notion that makes Beatrix giggle. Andrey is a good Tyvian man, and perhaps her closest friend at court, but his most personal praises for her have always been to commend her for bringing strong Tyvian blood to these weak-chinned Gristolians. He would never attempt anything untoward!

And, in the depths of her heart, Beatrix enjoys her husband’s jealousy when she entertains the Spymaster over tea or card games in her private parlor. She enjoys hearing Euhorn stumble to speak Tyvian with them both in an attempt to include himself! Watching him flush when they slip into the casual dialects that only a true Tyvian could understand, or when Andrey sets a chaste kiss to her cheek in the Dabokva custom!

Beatrix even enjoys the rumors that she has received Andrey in her personal bedchambers—a rumor that was squashed quickly, of course, because Beatrix was loyal to her dear Emperor to a fault, though she had a good few days’ fun with it.

If she has endured Euhorn’s bastard girl for so many years, certainly Euhorn can endure his beloved wife being friends with his Spymaster.

* * *

“ _It is a well-documented fact she’s Euhorn’s bastard_ ,” Beatrix sighs, pouring hot water from the samovar into the dark tea concentrate for Andrey. Her hands shake, as they always do when she must speak of the girl, but her rage is quiet for now.

Andrey stretches his right arm out along the velvet back of the chaise in her parlor, heavy brow furrowing. “ _He does you no honor, Your Majesty_.” He takes the offered glass teacup with a nodded bow to her. “ _The men of Gristol do not deserve Tyvian women!_ ”

“ _He is just too gentle in ways of the household_.” Beatrix stirs a little sweet fig jam into the bottom of her own teacup with a wan smile. “ _I tell Euhorn to leave managing the house to me, like a good wife should, but he cannot help that it is his nature to want to help as many as he can._ ”

“ _A strong trait for a ruler, but less so in a husband!_ ”

Beatrix takes a sip of her own tea as she takes a seat in the pink chair opposite the Spymaster. How comforting it is to air these old grievances! In all her years in the Tower, never before has she had such a good friend! “ _Yes, certainly, but I would not have dear Euhorn any other way. He has never once consciously cause me indignity or harm. He is good to Jessamine, and he has been good to me_.”  

Andrey nods. “ _Does the bastard receive any special treatment? I have never seen her at court._ ”

“ _Of course not_.” Beatrix tsks. The notion alone, of allowing that awful woman’s daughter to sit beside her dear Jessamine! “ _But I think Euhorn has been promising to allow her a title at some point, if how awfully mopey Jessamine describes her as is true. I imagine she’s rather miserable since Jessamine debuted last year. And, forgive me my wickedness, kind Andrey, but when she is old enough I will allow her to stay on in the Tower as a servant, too, and then Delilah can scrub the floor of the throne room, if she wants to be at court so badly!_ ”

The Spymasters laughs heartily. “ _A wicked thought indeed!_ ”

* * *

Beatrix admires her reflection in her dressing room mirror. Her diamond kokoshnik glitters as a dressing maid pins the lace veil behind it—how lovely, especially against the soft gold quilting in her gown!

“I don’t want you talking to Volkov anymore,” Euhorn says, storming into her chambers with a huff. His suit is in disarray and his face burns bright red.

Beatrix is quite taken aback. “Why not?” She waves her hand quickly to dismiss her maids, who scurry out of the room with a bow.

“He ordered a servant whipped!” Euhorn bellows. Never before has Beatrix seen her husband so upset!

“Certainly the servant—”

“There is no _certainly_ , Beatrix! He’s a cruel, cunning man, and I’m certain he’s using you for something, though for what ends I cannot imagine! I will not have any members of my court mistreat the very people they are supposed to serve and represent!” he shouts, gesturing at her so violently!

Beatrix rises, certain to keep her expression and tone soft. Her father had had fits of anger like this, too, and she had seen her dear mother soothe him enough times to remember the principles of the matter. She settles a gentle hand on his cheek. “I understand,” she murmurs quietly.

“I would dismiss him immediately if I had anyone immediately at hand to replace him! The audacity—beating a maid, Beatrix! A girl only five years older than Jessamine!” The venom is fading from Euhorn’s voice, and he presses both of his hands over hers on his cheek.

“I understand,” Beatrix repeats. “But do not be hasty, my love. There must be a misunderstanding, surely. Speak to him, not as Emperor and Spymaster, but as common men. He has never acted in this way before, has he?”

Certainly Andrey would never cause any harm to anyone out of anger! And, if Beatrix is allowed a moment of honesty with herself… Could she truly blame him? If that bleak coil of her rage unfurled itself in her heart, and it was Euhorn’s harlot standing before her—only the Outsider could know the cruelties that Beatrix might inflict!

Euhorn exhales heavily. “That I know of—but what if there are more servants he’s mistreated who are too afraid to say anything? I cannot stand to even think of speaking to him!”

“I know Lord Volkov well, dear husband. I have never seen in him any cruelty, and though I know Gristol often views Tyvians as prone to temper or coldness, I have never seen any such traits in the Spymaster.” Beatrix leans upwards to leave a soft kiss on Euhorn’s cheek. “Certainly a misunderstanding must have transpired. Allow me to speak to him on your behalf, if you don’t think you can manage it. I will talk to him as a friend, and we will sort things right.”

Yes, that’s all that this will take! Beatrix will speak to Andrey, and they will sort this entire thing right.

* * *

“Restrict the lying tongue that is like a spark in a man’s mouth!” And how Beatrix feels that the High Overseer knows what she has done! How she feels that his eyes focus solely on her in the small Tower chapel! “It is such a little thing, yet from one spark an entire city may burn to the ground.”

Beatrix fixes her gaze upon the far wall of the chapel, where the golden forked symbol of the Abbey hung. There was no way for anyone to know. She and Andrey had spoken exclusively in the Dabokva dialect, and she had been diligent to make sure there were no eavesdroppers in her chambers.

What did it matter if Andrey had beaten a maid? She had tried to steal coin from him! Yes, Andrey should have spoken instead to the Watch to report the crime, but certainly a temporary beating was better than long months in prison! The girl would never have been able to get another job again, if she’d been turned over to the Watch for her punishment. What Andrey had done only seemed cruel at the moment! In the long term, it was a mercy!

Yes, Beatrix had lied to her husband, but she had hidden many things from dear Euhorn before, and this was certain to not be the last!

“The father of a lie will suffer a punishment compounded by each person relayed it. Better to live a life of silence than unleash a stream of untruth!” The High Overseer throws his fist into the air as the unblinking eyes of his golden mask glint in the chapel candlelight. “The echoes of lies come back as the voice of the Outsider!”

Beatrix feels ill. Perhaps her gown was too tightly laced. Was it warmer than usual in the chapel? Nobody else seemed uncomfortable, not even little Jessamine, who listened with rapt attention to the Overseer. Perhaps she was just unwell—

She collapses into a faint with a soft gasp.

* * *

Beatrix goes to Driscol alone, again. The physician attributes it to the Dunwall air, and the general feebleness that had consistently plagued her.

Ruane Castle is not the haven it had seemed those years ago. Now it is lonely, and not even the peeresses that Beatrix entertains in her private court can ease the feeling. She longs to see Jessamine, but her daughter must stay in Dunwall with her tutors and governesses, attending court with her father. One day, Jessamine will be Empress, and even though she is only a girl she already has a duty to her empire.

Ruane had once been a place of restoration for Beatrix, but now it is a cold stone prison. She dismisses the peeresses, her ladies-in-waiting, and the few others who had tagged along from Dunwall. They only drain her. How false they had all sounded, saying that she was looking healthier every day when Beatrix can see in the mirror that she looks as pale and gaunt as the day before!

And how awfully had Beatrix’s temper grown! The anger she’d done so well to control all her life seemed untamable now. Was it always so difficult to think so positively? Had this awful beast always lived within her?

Beatrix resolves to convince the physician that she is well enough again to return to the Tower. If she can just see her beloved little Jessamine, surely she will feel better! Jessamine could always brighten Beatrix’s mood.

* * *

The Tower does not improve Beatrix’s temper, but seeing Jessamine does ease the burden on her heart tremendously, so long as Beatrix largely confines herself to her personal rooms.

She has only been gone for six weeks, but she swears Jessamine has grown! How beautiful Jessamine is, fair and black-haired, and always smiling! How intelligent, too, speaking crisp Tyvian with a perfect imitation of Beatrix’s own Dabokva accent, or playing the pianoforte to entertain a handful of aristocrats at a ball! Jessamine will be a fine Empress, Beatrix is certain.

* * *

“ _Who broke it?_ ” Beatrix snarls, hands clenched into fists so tightly that her knuckles have gone bloodless, face bright red.

Andrey shrugs, and if Beatrix were not so consumed in her own anger she would have questioned that, but then he speaks: “ _Princess Jessamine said the bastard girl, Delilah, did it._ ”

“ _It was a wedding gift from my mother! My Alexandrovna!_ ” Beatrix is certain that she will have torn the hem of her court dress with how tightly she’s gripping it! _“What right did that whore’s daughter have to touch my things?_ ” she spits.

“ _Her Highness said they were playing, and it was an accident_.” There is something sly in Andrey’s tone! But Beatrix’s blood thuds in her ears and she cannot think.

“ _An accident?_ ” Beatrix shouts, her kokoshnik sliding back on her head as she shook in her anger. “ _An accident? She knows better than to play in my parlor!_ ”

“ _Of course, perhaps the bastard girl encouraged Her Highness to break the rules. Princess Jessamine normally does not act out, does she?_ ” Andrey gently soothes, a gloved hand guiding the sleeve of Beatrix’s gown back up her shoulder from where it had slipped.

“ _Of course the bastard did it!_ ” Beatrix should have never allowed that girl to stay in the Tower! She should have insisted Euhorn fire her mother the moment she knew the maid was pregnant! She inhales sharply, straightening her posture.

“ _Allow me to help you, my dearest Empress_ ,” Andrey whispers, leaning close. “ _I know this must upset you terribly. I will make sure Delilah pays for her crime._ ”

That cold, cruel blackness unfurls in Beatrix’s heart again. “ _I want her and her whore mother out of my household at once_ ,” Beatrix hisses. “ _Tell no one else of this, or my foolish husband will try to stop you_.”

“ _Of course, Your Highness._ ” Andrey bows as she turns to leave her dressing room.

Beatrix lets go of the hem of her gown with a gritted sigh, forcing her composure back. “Forgive me my wickedness,” she murmurs to herself in Gristolian. “ _Andrey_?”

“ _Yes, Your Highness?_ ”

Beatrix smooths her shaking hands over her skirt as her rage twists merrily within her chest. “ _I don’t care what you do to the girl_.”

The Spymaster leers. For a moment Beatrix wonders when she became so cruel! When she stopped caring about if she was a kind, good woman, about all those respectable virtues her beloved mother had tried so hard to instill within her. Had this darkness always been within her, or was the girl a poison?

“ _Yes, Your Highness. Thank you._ ” He bows again.

“Forgive me my wickedness,” Beatrix whispers again. “Please, forgive me this wickedness.”

No, neither the bastard nor Euhorn’s wench were poison, were they?  

The only wicked one was Beatrix.

And perhaps it always had been.

**Author's Note:**

> hey arkane if you're still hiring people to write/retcon your lore I'm free & I've got experience as a published author too
> 
> this is the longest piece of fanfiction I have ever written, and it is also likely the most niche. 
> 
> talk to me on [on tumblr](http://officialclaricestarling.tumblr.com) | [buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/clstarling/) & i'll write you a ficlet!


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